


2023

by MedeaV



Series: Fix its [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And they didn't even try anything else, Fake Flirting, Just bad writing, Largely set after Endgame, Major injuries, Memory Loss, Nobody ever said you had to sacrifice people, Vormir fix it, because it was SO BAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedeaV/pseuds/MedeaV
Summary: Natasha was never that afraid of losing her life. Just of losing herself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, can be read either way - Relationship
Series: Fix its [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598896
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: BuckyNat Secret Santa 2019





	2023

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eustaciavye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/gifts).



> Can be read as a sequel to "Five years" or as a stand alone.

_ In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. _

"Well, that's easy," Natasha replies. "I've already lost so much, just give it to me."

_ Not so easy, Widow. The stone demands a sacrifice, something that you love and hold dear. For one of you, the journey ends here. _

"I think we both know who it should be," Clint says.

"Don't be silly," Natasha replies. "Why would we jump off a cliff just because that guy says so? There must be another way."

"My bow," Clint asks. "What if I throw my bow down there?"

_ It will be an everlasting exchange, not something as easily replaced as a simple object. _

"Nat," Clint complains. "He called my bow simple!"

"Shut up, we need to think," Natasha replies, sitting down on a rock. "We really need to think."

"I don't trust this guy," Natasha mutters.

"Me either," Clint replies. "Why would we? He is the Red Skull, for Pete's sake."

"You thought one of us should jump off the cliff," Natasha reminds him.

Clint pulls a sour face. "Yeah, yeah. What do we do, though?"

"I don't know," Natasha replies. "But we'll figure it out. We've made impossible decisions before."

"Budapest," Clint mutters.

"Do you remember what I was like?" Natasha asks. "When you were sent to kill me and saved me instead? What led you to that?"

Clint is silent for a long while. "I knew you could be redeemed. I just knew. You may have had the shittiest of lives up to that point but my gut said you could be so much more."

Natasha takes a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"

"Unless you're talking about jumping off this cliff," Clint replies. "Yes."

"I'm not jumping off anywhere," Natasha mutters, getting up. "Hey! Redface."

The figure floats closer.  _ I assume you have made a decision. _

"I have an offering," Natasha states. "A sacrifice."

_ What would that be? _

"My memories," Natasha replies. "The good ones."

Clint grabs her arm but she frees herself. "I'll give it all up. Everything that made me me. In exchange for the stone."

"Tasha," Clint hisses. "No."

"Do you have the sedative?" she whispers. "Knock me out as soon as we have the stone. I can't wake up before we're back in the present or I'll probably try to kill you."

"Nat-" Clint starts.

"What's up, Redface," she taunts. "I can see you can't say no to that."

_ It is not my decision, Widow. But your memories have been deemed a worthy sacrifice. _

"No!" Clint shouts. "Don't, let me-"

Then a fountain of light erupts.

She's sitting outside a café with her coat on. It's a brisk fall. The large cup in front of her must have gone cold already. But she's sitting there, smoking.

She doesn't look his way when he sits down across from her, staring into thin air somewhere along the street. He checks that his glove didn't slip down to reveal the tell-tale metal wrist. She blows smoke into the cold air, mixing with her breath. "I remember you."

"I was afraid you would," he says.

An eager waitress shows up and he orders an espresso in Russian while she stubs her cigarette out. Whatever she has is large and milky and he's not in the mood for that. She continues staring at something only she sees until the waitress is out of earshot.

"It's a difficult thing, you know," she says. "When you lose only a part of your memories. Everything stops making sense. Like you're going insane."

"Losing all of them also feels like going insane," he replies. "Believe me."

Her eyes narrow and she pulls out another cigarette without looking. "Nat," he says. "What are you doing here?"

She shields the lighter with one hand, cigarette between her lips. Only talks after taking the first drag. "You know how it is. It never ends."

"Well, tell me," he asks. "If you remember."

She closes her eyes for just a fraction of a second, just a tick too long. "I still remember lots of things. All the bad stuff. Some good stuff mixed in, because sometimes it's hard to disentangle. But mostly I still hate everyone I ever met, because everyone hurt me at some point, and I can't believe I let them get away with that."

"Don't say you had gone soft," he remarks. "You saved the world."

She chuckles darkly, sucking on her cigarette. "Yeah. Great. What do I get out of it?"

"Is that why you didn't go to the funeral?" he asks.

"Tony is a selfish prick," she states. "Was. Complexes a mile wide, never tried to deal with it, got lots of people hurt in the process. He probably has some good qualities that I can't remember but nothing that would outweigh that."

"So you still care," he remarks. "Never stopped."

She closes her eyes with annoyance. The waitress brings his coffee, tiptoeing around, putting it down as silently as possible, disappearing as quick as possible.

"You reset my shoulder," she tells him. "If you remember. I do, because it hurt like a bitch. And even more because I was scared the headmistress would come in and then I'd be as good as dead."

He snorts, leaning back. "If that's the good memories… sorry."

"The only good memories I have left," she says and leaves it at that.

"Also shot you," he adds. "Twice. But you know that."

She shrugs with one shoulder, staring off into the distance. "Will you let me help?" he asks. "With whatever you're doing."

"The scars I don't remember are stranger," she says. "I have a small one on my left arm and I absolutely can't- I can't imagine how getting a scar wouldn't be a bad memory."

"I don't know," he replies. "But Steve wants me to tell you your life wasn't as rotten as it may feel right now."

She snorts. "Steve. Did you tell him you were going looking for me? Did you tell him where I am?"

"No," he replies. "Just… he just said it."

She studies him. "Okay. I believe you."

"Good," he remarks. "Why, though?"

She stares off again. "You know, I have good memories of other people as well. But yours are the only ones that still make sense to me."

"Because I was there at the worst time of your life," he says. "And you remember all of it."

"Guess that means my life got better?" she suggests dubiously. "Kinda hard to believe."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I know."

She gets up suddenly, dropping her cigarette into the ashtray. "Drink your coffee. I'm leaving."

He swallows the espresso in one gulp, pulling a face at the unsweetened bitterness of it. The waitress almost comes rushing over but stays when she sees them both dumping too many banknotes on the table. Natasha looks up at him in confusion but it's gone in a second and she's rushing down the street, tying her coat as she walks.

It's easy to catch up to her, with her little steps. Even if she's rushing. "Who are you even after?"

"Shhh," she replies. "Put your arm around me or we'll catch attention. Slow down."

He does, though not comfortably. There's a bit of tension in her spine but nothing that would be visible. The way they're going makes him disregard the two guys turning right at the moment and focus on the lady who's clutching her handbag. "Stop here," she mutters, pulling him to the side. "Let's look at those watches."

"Who is she?" he asks, while Natalia points at something in fake excitement. "Why are you following her?"

"Shouldn't matter to you," Natalia replies in a fake sweet tone. "Tell me what she's doing. Look bored."

He takes a deep breath, looking around. "Taking out her phone. Looks like a burner. She's calling- nevermind, she dropped it into the trash can."

Natalia grabs his arm and pulls him back on the street. "Get it. I'll stay on her track. Come and find me later."

It takes forever to catch up to her. She's sitting in a restaurant, very calmly eating a salad. Like she's lost in her thoughts. As if. He sits down across from her, again without asking.

She looks up and smiles as if she only just recognized him. "Oh. There you are."

"Yeah, sorry for the delay," he replies, looking around while shrugging off his jacket to see whether they can talk freely. "Got you a present, though."

She smiles as if flattered. He doesn't like this. "Oh, I can't wait. Look, the waiter's here already."

He turns around to find the guy heading towards him with a menu. It looks too fancy. The waiter looks too fancy. Asks him straight away whether he can already bring a drink. He gets lost between what he wants and what the place demands and what the cover demands and-

"Oh, sweetheart," Natalia interrupts, reaching across to touch his cheek which he doesn't take well. "He's driving me home, so just a coke, please."

That at least makes the waiter go away, after some pleasantries. "Jesus Christ," Natalia mutters, pulling her hand back. "As if I slapped you."

"I still see the twelve year old girl," he mumbles. "Makes me feel like an absolute creep."

"Well, deal with it," she replies. "My head might be a mess but I'm definitely not twelve."

He snorts. As if he doesn't know. "Where's your friend?"

"Up in her apartment," she says. "I'll see when she leaves. Fair warning, then I'll stir up a fight and storm out."

He certainly won't stop her. He points at the salad. "How's that?"

"Horrible," she replies, putting the fork down. "Wanna try?"

He takes the fork and picks up some coleslaw. "I'm pretending to try to lose weight," she explains, taking a sip of her water, looking out of the window. "Order something fat and I'll fake smile like I'm really suffering inside."

"Do you enjoy that?" he asks, fishing out a tomato. "Or is it just so engrained?"

The waiter comes back, unfortunately, so he tries to order some steak without ever having looked at the menu. The waiter is obnoxiously patient. And doesn't leave quick enough.

"I really can't wait for the first snow," Natalia chats. "You're still taking me to St. Gallen, right?"

He really doesn't like this, like they're engaging in some high end form of prostitution, she'll be his mistress as long as he gives her the fancy restaurants and the expensive gifts and the skiing vacations. "We'll see."

"You'll need to pay the check, by the way," Natalia adds. "No way to split. Got enough cash?"

"Don't think so," he mutters, looking around again. Yeah, this place is too fancy.

She reaches for her purse, fishing around for a while, then pulling out her phone. "There. Look."

It's the surveillance camera inside the apartment that must be just across the road, though he can't see the woman. He doesn't think she really cares about him looking. "There," she encourages again. "You can take it."

He takes a deep breath as if annoyed and reaches out with his left hand. She slips some rolled up cash into his palm. He takes both, the phone and the cash. "Who is she even? What did she do?"

"Doesn't concern you," Natalia replies, crossing her arms. "Is she doing anything?"

He shakes his head. "Come on. You really want to do this all alone? Not even tell anybody?"

She hesitates, staring at her sparkling water. "Come on," he tries again. "I thought you trust me. Kinda."

"You know, I-" She sighs and stares out of the window. "What I remember, most of all, is my childhood. If you can call it that. It got more... fresh somehow. I can- I can still keep things in order and all, it just got- closer. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," he replies. "Very much."

"All those people, I- well, I wasn't so sure it was all wrapped up," she states. "Maybe I just didn't remember, I really didn't know, and so I… I went back and checked. That's what I did. And it turns out… things don't stay dead, apparently."

The phone almost slips out of his hand. "So you mean-"

"Different people," she says. "Much of the same techniques. Much of the same outcomes. Essentially the same thing. And I won't let that stand."

"So you're going- all on your-"

The waiter arrives, unfortunately. "Everything alri-"

"Yes, yes," he interrupts. "Thank you. Please."

Natalia looks sort of amused by his lacking finesse. At least the waiter leaves. "Don't give me that look."

"Give me my phone," she says with a smirk. "And the other one, too."

He snorts and reaches into his pocket. "Only touched it with my left. If you need the fingerprints."

"I don't," she replies, tucking it away into her purse quickly. "But thanks for the consideration."

"So that's what it is?" he asks. "Your personal crusade? All alone?"

"I have to stop these people," she says. "So that no one gets hurt. They're dangerous."

"That's why you should accept help," he suggests.

"That's why I can't drag anyone else into this," she corrects. "Sorry."

He snorts, taking a gulp of his coke. "That's absolutely bonkers."

"I have to do this," she repeats. "I thought you would understand."

That's mean. "Not alone. You don't have to do it alone."

"No offense to you," she says. "But I work better alone."

"Yeah, sure," he mutters. "That's why you joined literally the only superhero team in the world."

"I know I did!" she hisses. "Just because I don't  _ remember  _ doesn't mean I don't  _ know. _ "

He takes a deep breath in order not to start screaming at her. "And that woman is…"

"Part of it," she replies very generally.

"Are you going to kill her?" he asks.

She looks out of the window again. "I don't know."

"Is there really nothing I can do?" he asks. "To convince you? To help you?"

She snorts, sipping on her water, giving him an absolutely devastating look. "Ok, tell me this," he tries again. "If you're done- once you're done- what's next?"

"I don't know," she replies, taking her phone out. "They're dangerous. I might not make it."

Unbelievable. "That's the dumbest thing I heard since Steve-"

She suddenly puts the phone down, leaning forward, hissing. "She's moving. I have to go."

"Yes," he returns, not all of the exasperation fake. "Fine. Go."

"Don't you dare follow me," she hisses. "I have to do this on my own."

"That's batshit crazy," he states. "You're batshit crazy."

He catches a little smirk as she grabs her purse and jumps up, grabs her coat and storms out.

He finds her behind some pipes in the basement, like a cat who's crawled into the bushes to die. She's bleeding out slowly but still conscious. He presses his jacket to the wound.

"Told you not to follow me," she whispers, lips dry and pale.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fine," he tells her. "Sam is on his way here. He'll patch you up better than I ever could."

"Sam," she repeats faintly. "I don't- I don't remember anything about him."

He smiles. "I'll tell him. Come on, let's get you out of here."

She's really weak at this point, so he picks her up bridal style, careful to keep the jacket in its place. Her head lolls back, eyes closed. He kicks the door open.

He has to pay attention for them both, now that she's not. The facility is empty, not a living soul to be seen, but he doesn't trust this place. He startles when her bloodstained hand touches his cheek. "Nat? You okay?"

She looks dazed, pupils dangerously wide. "Is it… Is it over? James?"

He smiles. "Yes. Yes, it's over, Natalia."


End file.
